Doctor Who, Drabbles
by forgettingtofly
Summary: Moments in time and space - a collection of short fiction about our favorite Time Lord and his companions.
1. prompt: restless

Sometimes Martha would wake up in the middle of the night, not remembering where she was. Then she would listen to the whirring sound of the Tardis engine, or catch a glimpse of a phantom green glow that seemed to come from inside the walls. It seemed to her that the Tardis really was alive in those moments, actively comforting her and sheltering her from the flood of confusion and emotion that inevitably came with every waking moment.

Because _he_ was here. In the next room, probably. Maybe tinkering with something inside of the Tardis console. He never slept—not that she could tell. He was always clattering about, somewhere in the ship, chatting with the Tardis, chatting to himself, chatting to thin air.

She'd sneak around, watch him when he didn't know she was there. On nights like these, when the Tardis's whirring was less of a comfort and more of a nervous humming through her veins, all she could think about was him.

She sat up, pulling a sweater over her shoulders and setting her feet down on the warm Tardis floor. She was staying in one of the many bedrooms on the "upper level" of the ship—bedrooms that just seemed to appear and disappear at random. Ever since she had arrived, however, her room had remained fixed. Only occasionally would things go missing, only to turn up elsewhere. She wasn't sure if the Doctor was fiddling with her things, or (more likely) the Tardis was playing with her. Nevertheless, she was comfortable there, and enjoyed the semi-privacy. Now, however, she was wishing that she had her own kitchen unit. Leaving her room meant the potential of running into the Doctor, and all she really wanted right now was a cup of tea and a biscuit.

She shivered a bit, not from cold, but rather from a sense of anxiety. Creeping to the door, Martha looked through the crack. Below, the Tardis control room hummed and throbbed pleasantly, sleepily. She had a mental image of the Tardis napping, running on a sort of lazy autopilot. The Doctor was nowhere to be seen.

Warm air brushed against her face when she stepped out onto the catwalk. She considered for a moment just going back to bed. But then she thought of a cup of tea—just what she needed to calm her restless nerves. Why did it seem that the Tardis was watching her as she padded down the stairs? She had never before had such a sense of being under observation. Maybe it was just a reflection of her own sense of anxiety.

It didn't make sense, how much she loved The Doctor. In a way, she hated herself for it. Martha Jones should be stronger than this. Logical. _Move on_, she told herself constantly. _He doesn't love you._

And now, in the gentle green light of the hallway, with the Tardis alive and humming all around her, Martha felt more certain than ever that she would have to leave soon.

It had been on her mind for a while, leaving. Not that it was what she defaulted to—usually, Martha was a "stick it out" kind of girl. She was loyal to a fault, and she knew that. She also knew that it often opened her up to being hurt terribly. But it was time to give up, it seemed. Time to pull herself away from this beautiful dream, the traveling, the adventure. Time to go back to the real world and her family and her job and her _life_.

She ran her hand along the porous wall of the Tardis' hallway—she always thought of it as a wall of coral, and it seemed to breathe under her touch. The kitchen, if she remembered correctly, was just down the hall here, to her left maybe.

The light was on, glowing soft and gold. That wasn't unusual. Sometimes the Tardis seemed to sense what she needed before she did.

She stepped into the little kitchen area, bare feet finding comfort in the coldness of the floor. She padded over to the stove, and she stopped. The stove was already turned on, and a kettle set to boil. Even as she approached, a faint whistle escaped through the cap. Martha frowned and started to reach for it. _Could the Tardis really—?_

"Hang on, let me get that for you!"

He came up behind her, not even noticing her startled yelp as she leapt to the side and stared. The Doctor whisked the tea kettle off of the stove and poured two cups of hot tea. He was still in his blue suit, but his collar was loosened a bit, and he was barefoot. Turning, he gave her the cup of tea and held out a tray.

"Biscuit?"

Martha blinked. "Doctor, how did you know?"

He was munching contemplatively, gazing at the ceiling as if thinking very hard. "How did I what, Martha?"

"How did you know that I wanted…tea and biscuits?"

The Doctor gave her a look. "Martha, I'm not a mind-reader. Wellll, at least not in this particular case." He grinned that stupid proud grin of his and sipped his tea. "But tonight just seemed like a night for making tea, and I always make enough for two."

Martha arched her eyebrow, took a sip and winced at the hot liquid on her lips. "That's good to know. Thank you, Doctor."

"Martha Jones, you are most welcome." He smiled and gathered up a pile of biscuits, stuffing them in the pockets of his suit. Then he headed for the door. "Get some sleep—big day tomorrow!" he called over his shoulder, clattering down the hallway.

Taking a careful sip of the steaming liquid, Martha allowed herself a little smile. The kitchen was warm and humming with cozy energy, the Doctor was fiddling with his beloved Tardis, and she had a warm drink between her hands. This was as much real life as she had back at home. And, if she was honest with herself, the Tardis was as much a home to her as the house where her parents had once lived together.

Maybe she couldn't be with the Doctor forever. Maybe she would not be the last person that he made tea for. But she could be that person right now, and she could be _with_ him, be his friend and his companion. And if that was all that he ever needed from her, so be it. Someday she would move on. For now, she would continue to live with the Doctor.

It seemed, as she walked back to her room, that the Tardis was singing her to sleep.


	2. prompt: (he takes care of his friends)

A/N:** SPOILERS FOR THE ANGELS TAKE MANHATTAN**; prompt: _What if Captain Jack met the Ponds in the 30s?_

At first, it was a relief sweeter than freedom to be in each other's arms, to know that the other was safe and well. To be together. Amy buried her face in Rory's shoulder, clung to him with trembling joy. Her face was wet and her heart was heavy with losing her best friend, but there was no doubt in her mind that this was right. She had never considered anything else.

When they pulled apart long enough to look around them, the trepidation set in.

"Rory, where are we?"

He shrugged a bit, shaking his head and glancing around. "Well, it looks to be sometime in the 1930s again. At least, that's what I'm guessing."

They were standing rather unobtrusively on the sidewalk, directly under a street lamp like any other street lamp. The air was warm and soggy, a heavy humid fog hanging around them. The building to their left was solid brick and dark, abandoned perhaps.

"New York?"

Rory turned to look around a bit more thoroughly, though never once allowing her hand to leave his. They each kept a keen eye open for any creepy statuary that might be around.

"You guessed right!" called a cheerful voice from within a bank of hazy fog. "City so nice they named it twice." Emerging from the haze was a man with a wide, handsome smile, tousled hair and a long, wool greatcoat slung over one shoulder. Underneath he wore what appeared to be a military uniform. "And you, my friends, seem to be a bit…out of place."

Rory had one arm protectively around Amy's waist, and glared his best glare, though mostly it came off as just confused. "Who are you?"

The man extended a friendly hand. "Captain Jack Harkness, at your service."

Amy's forehead wrinkled, because somewhere, she was certain that she had heard that name mentioned before. She gave him the up-down glance, lips quirking upwards a bit in an silly sort of grin that she tried in vain to hide. He certainly had his…charms.

"Do we…know you?"

Harkness lifted his shoulders, looking a bit sheepish. "Possibly. You might know _of_ me." His eyes twinkled at her. "I wouldn't mind knowing _both_ of you a little…better, mind you…"

The tone of his voice was slightly suggestive, but so entirely nonthreatening that they only frowned in confusion. Rory scowled, because the man was admiring Amy's hair just a bit too attentively and then flashing a bright smile back at him in turn.

Harkness, picking up on their guarded suspicion, sighed and glanced around. "Look, The Doctor sent me to…check up on you." His face twitched reproachfully. "Won't say I wasn't surprised…haven't seen or heard from the man in years. But that's The Doctor for you." He looked back at them, a bit sympathetically now. "But look who I'm talking to."

Amy found her voice again. "The Doctor sent you. What do you mean? I thought…I mean, how could he? Time travel—well, it would create too many paradoxes, he said."

"For him. For the Tardis," Harkness said, lifting his wrist and pointing to the watch-like contraption encircling it. "Not for me and my—friend here. The Doctor lent it to me, sent me back to my old stomping grounds." He breathed deep, smiling at their surroundings. "Always did love this era."

Rory wasn't appreciating this side-tracked conversation. "Look, Captain…"

"Call me Jack."

"Okay, Jack. Why, exactly, did The Doctor send you?"

"Regardless of whether or not the guy can see you again, you don't think he'd just leave you high and dry in a new world without anything to start with, do you?" Jack smiled. "Come with me."

And they did. Because he knew The Doctor. And because his smile was reassuring and made them both a bit flustered.

Captain Jack Harkness led them a few blocks away, where the city was no longer quiet and started to bustle with activity. They hopped into a cab with him, drove for a few more blocks, and stopped just outside a building in a lovely part of town.

"Here we are," Jack proclaimed, gesturing out the window. "All for you."

Climbing out, Amy and Rory couldn't help but feel the familiarity of the moment. It did not seem that long ago when The Doctor had left them with a house and a new car. He was always taking care of them.

"It's ours?" Amy sputtered, looking up at the pretty, brick-faced building squashed between a couple of tall apartments. It was a three-level home, with a lovely, Tardis blue front door and flowers in the windows.

Jack wedged himself between them, flopping his arms across their shoulders and squeezing them like he was just an old friend. "All yours, lovebirds. Go take a look."

They started up the steps, but Amy whirled suddenly when she felt that Jack wasn't following them. She was right—he was starting to saunter back down the sidewalk. "Wait!" She clattered back down the steps, catching up. "Jack. Will…will we ever see you again?"

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Well, now…" Then, seeing the sadness set on her face, his eyes softened into kindness. "I don't know, Amy. I'm not as free to travel as I was before."

"But could you…could you come back and tell us, tell us how he is? Just…sometimes?"

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled wistfully at her tears. "Amelia Pond, I will do my best."

He had turned his back and was fading into the shadows of an alley down the street when Amy finally choked out the words. "Thank you."


	3. prompt: snow angels

prompt: snow angels

* * *

"What _are_ you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" There were snowflakes on his face, and he really did look like the ancient nine-year-old that he was. Big sloppy grin, wide eyes full of joy, tinged only a little by centuries of black memories and hardship. It was only a few days after the Ponds had died.

River Song stood in the doorway of the Tardis, forehead pressed against the faux wood, eyes misting. There he was, her Doctor, sprawled in the snow on his back, staring at the sky with wild appreciation, flailing his arms manically.

"You look like you've lost your mind, my love," she muttered, mostly to herself. It was a smiling jab, and she knew it wouldn't hurt him. Her voice was breaking with emotion, so she dared not say anything else.

He bounced up them, like a spring wound too tightly, and stumbled away from his creation. A sort of warped shape, a body and broad appendages—

"—you made an angel." River didn't know whether to be confused or laughing.

The Doctor brushed past her and into the Tardis, and promptly shoveled her back out into the snowy cold. "Yes, I did. Your turn, then."

River paused over the image, swallowing a lump in her throat. It was only a snow angel. She had probably made them before, she was certain. Back when she was a child, growing up with her parents for best friends. On the rare occasion that it snowed, of course.

A brief image flashed in River's mind—her mother, whose face she would never see again, staring down a stony angel in a cemetery, red hair billowing. _"Be a good girl, and look after him."_

"I can't," she murmured. _ I'm not ready. _"I'm not dressed for it."

"River Song, afraid of a little snow?" The Doctor's voice was straining for patience and for happiness, which frightened her somehow. She wanted him solemn and brooding—this forced joy was not him, not right, not ever. Like he was trying to create a betterIt made her insides crawl.

She whirled on him, breathless. She wanted to speak, to berate, to make him understand that this was loss, this was pain and the he had to let himself feel it and accept it. They were gone, and she knew that all too well. She lifted her eyes and opened her mouth to tell him so.

He touched her lips with his finger, and she felt his other hand slide to her waist, holding her still and captive. Gently, his finger slid down, stroking her cheek and her throat, down the bare curve of her shoulder. His forehead pressed against hers, and he closed his eyes and breathed softly against her nose "River—oh, River. Please. Let's just have this moment together, shall we?"

She wondered what he felt in that moment. River felt incredible longing, and warmth filled her chest because he was hers and he was so near. But she wondered if, in these last few days, he had been only seeing who she was—the child of The Girl Who Waited, and Rory the Roman—and a reminder of his failure to save them.

"Doctor, don't do this—don't push them aside. Don't act like it didn't happen. You can stay sad for a while," her voice was shaking now, wobbling between strength and so much pain. "This hurts too much."

He pulled back, both hands now gripping her shoulders, and she felt a sort of firmness there. Maybe this man was not splitting at the seams as much as she had thought.

"River," said The Doctor, and his voice was very close to her ear now and she realized she had closed her eyes at his touch. "I will miss them every day, with every one of my heart beats, for the rest of my life. But I have to learn how to miss them. And this—making snow angels with you—this is one of the ways. For both of us."

He gently turned her around, facing again his little imprint in the snow. The Doctor stood behind, rested the side of his face against hers, and she felt him inhale deeply, the scent of her skin and her piles of hair. "It's the first snow on the first day of the first December on earth." He pushed her forward gently. "Let's play in the snow."

River let the snow kiss her bare skin, felt the chill and the warmth of the moment combine and swirl into a knot of pain and gladness somewhere under her ribcage, wherever her soul sat waiting. She realized that there would always be last moments for The Doctor. And for her. And for everyone.

But a last moment was just the pathway to another first moment, and this—this would be theirs. Making snow angels, together.


End file.
